


MY LOVE

by Joeyrumlow



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aragorn Angst, Dark, F/M, Gen, Hiding, Love, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joeyrumlow/pseuds/Joeyrumlow
Summary: It is indeed a dangerous business but Aragorn still comes to visit you.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Reader, Aragorn/You
Kudos: 15





	MY LOVE

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by R. L. Stevenson's Kidnapped and let us imagine that Aragorn is like Alan Stewart.

The windows rattled as the raging gales violently demanded an entrance and the equally furious rain lashed against the panes, intent upon shattering their tenacious will. You silently watched these angry outbursts while the fire in the hearth flickered with a feeble strain. As a great flash of lightning lit up the entire valley and momentarily revealed the treacherous hills, you hastily turned away and pulled the blinds, as if rousing from a stupor. You involuntarily cast a glance at the man sitting cross legged on the floor before the hearth, quietly eating the supper you had provided him. 

You moved and took a seat at the table and spoke in low tones, "Wouldn't it be wiser to wait away the storm? You well know how dangerous the pathways in the mountains can be, even without the courtesies of such weather." You knew this was idle talk but you were beginning to get oppressed by the despair that shone in the fire and by the calm in his bearing. 

He paused in his relish and turned halfway towards you. It was a risk, lighting the fire at this odd hour, but he had been so cold you could not bring yourself to deny him that. He had protested but you had prevailed, reasoning with him that they would not think of continuing their pursuit during this perilous storm. The times were very trying; so many restrictions and so many orders, all aimed at making a decrepit and boneless figure of the people. Espionage was rampant and they knew everything about everyone. Or so they thought. Because somehow, Aragorn had always managed to delude them and he often laughed at the incompetency and incongruity of their men. But you lived in constant fear and in perpetual anxiety for him, a highly dangerous companion. You were destined for their dungeons if they got so much as a whiff about these rare visits and the least you could do then was to pray for a swift death. 

You could see the auburn of the fire dimly light his features as he smirked. "I knew this was coming and I'm not surprised that my charms work so well without even trying. But you could've asked me to stay without making the storm an excuse." His attempt at lightening the atmosphere only wrung the burden in both your hearts more prominently. 

You averted your gaze to your hands, turning over and over the poor image of a bracelet he had gotten you in his last visit, proudly declaring how he had fashioned it in a thicket as he tied it around your wrist. He quickly finished his meal and abandoning his bowl, slid along the length separating you with graceful agility and came to crouch before you. Putting his hands on your knees, he softly said, "I'm a very bad person Y/N. I know how much trouble I've-" 

"I know what I'm doing," you cut him short, "and I'd do it a thousand times even if you were not there in the picture." Your own heart smote you for speaking such falsity but he merely smiled. You dropped your eyes to the floor, unable to meet his disarming irises dappled by the shadows of the night. You fell back with a despondent sigh, listening to the march of the rain outside. 

He gently took your hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them with tender affection. "I know it's very selfish of me but I couldn't go on without seeing you." You still refused to look at him as he rested his chin on your knees and caged your hands within his with the utmost care. 

"I have seen a lot and suffered a lot and I am actually glad to bear the brunt of things but-" here his voice cracked and you finally looked at him with a wretched heart and eyes that were brimming over, "I couldn't go on if something were to happen to you Y/N." His glassy orbs became apparent even in the dull glimmer of the hearth. 

"Don't you dare talk like that son of Arathorn," your voice quivered and tears overflowed, heart wrenching and tearing apart. He was meaning to terminate these visits that you anticipated with such fervent terror and joy, the only thing that kept you going. How dare he say things like that? He had no right to even think that. The scaffold had been prepared for him and here he was worrying about you. Did he think you would forget him and live happily if he left, that if death touched him, you would refrain from holding its cold hand? It seemed that he had never understood you; if he did, he would not have uttered such unforgivable words. 

The wind had ceased to howl and the rain become a mizzling patter, as if anxious to make amends for its disagreeable behaviour earlier. As another flash of lightning blazed before the groaning rumble of the sky, the clock struck midnight in haunting chimes. 

The blackness of the night suddenly seemed to grapple the fire inside and it died without a struggle. You disengaged your hands from his grasp and wiping your tears, got up, carefully feeling your way to the door and opening it. He squatted to the door after you by trailing your skirt, standing to his full height once in the dark passage. 

As he strapped the pack hanging on the door you had previously furnished with what little you had, you quietly but steadily remarked, "If you think I'll be safe without you, you're wrong." 

You stood there stifling your sobs and listening to his heavy breathing, confounded by the swelling orchestra playing outside. Suddenly, he kissed you on the cheek; perhaps he would have placed it upon your lips if he had been bold enough or if it had not been so dark. But then he immediately groped the railings to descend the familiar staircase that would lead him through your cellars to the outside, leaving you standing amidst the shadows of the night. 

~*~

He turned to look at the solitary house that now had a glimmer of light in one of its windows, a sad smile forming on his lips. He was cold and thoroughly wet again, the rain sabotaging him and falling with a vengeance. With one wistful glance, he whispered, "Forgive me my love, forgive me if you can," and went on, trailing the pack splattered with mud.


End file.
